


Just A Number

by alexthelioness



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Death, F/M, Funerals, Gen, Mentions of Sex, Not too much, Tattoos, a little violence, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-16 04:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7251865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexthelioness/pseuds/alexthelioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Tumblr Prompt: everyone is born with a number on their wrist, which details the number of people at your funeral. The number changes as circumstances change. </p><p>Skye is born with a singular digit on her wrist. But as she grows and joins shield, things change</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Number

Skye didn't know what the number on her wrist meant at first. All she knew was that everyone in the orphanage had low numbers, ranging from 1 to 10. The nun had larger numbers, Sister Agnes had 30, Sister Loretta had 100. Sometimes Skye would look down at her solitary 1 on her wrist and rub at it, hoping for it to change. 

It wasn't until one of the older kids picked a fight with her in the yard that she learned the meaning behind the numbers. 

"Mary Sue only has a 1! Nobody's ever going to love you," the kid (James, he had a 12, the highest of the orphans) snarled, pushing her backwards. Skye felt the rage build in her chest, 

"That doesn't mean anything," she shot back, planting her feet on the ground, ready for a fight. James let out a hearty laugh, 

"You know what this means right?" He grabbed her wrist and pointed to the solitary number, "When you die, one sorry ass person is going to drag their ass to see you get buried. Like I said," he tossed her back back roughly, "nobodies ever going to love you enough to see you off when you're dead."

Tears filled Skye's eyes. It couldn't be true. Surely more than one person would care enough to say goodbye. She turned and fled, back inside in the orphanage. She ran into Sister Loretta, on her way out to bring the children back inside. Concern filled the old woman's face when she saw the tear streaks in the young girls eyes. 

"Oh Mary Sue, what happened?" Skye spoke through her hiccups, relaying what James had told her. Sister Loretta's brows creased together by the time she finished. Taking a deep breath, she knelt besides the little girl and reached out. Skye offered her hand in return. Gently cupping the little hand, Sister Loretta massaged the skin where the number was. "Mary Sue, this number, is not a burden. It is not popularity contest. It is most definitely not a measure of how many people will love you, rather, how many people you affect in your lifetime." Skye shook her head, she still didn't understand. Sister Loretta sighed and pulled back the sleeve of her habit, revealing her own wrinkled wrist. The number 100 was there, bold and black. Skye could feel the tears resurge, "This number has not been here my whole life. In fact, I was much like you for a while, I felt alone and abandoned, and I too had a 1 on my wrist." Skye looked up at the woman, surprise evident in her face. The woman laughed and continued, "it took me a while to realize that this number doesn't define your future. It changes, along with you. As you get older, and meet new people that number will change." Skye looked down at the number blazing on her wrist, still unbelieving it would change anytime soon. "Mary Sue, you are still young, with so much more to experience. Do not let this number define you." With that, Sister Loretta sent her off to wash her face before dinner. 

That night Skye tossed and turned in bed, replaying the Sister's words over and over.  _Don't let the number define you_. James's words also floated around,  _Nobody's ever going to love you._ The two conflicting voices swirled in her head, making it hurt. Would anybody ever love her? Would she die alone and friendless? Would there be people around the miss her? Frustration set in, and with that, determination. She pushed out all thoughts of James and his hurtful words, and instead focused on the advice of Sister Loretta,  _Don't let the number define you_. That night she made a promise to herself (and whatever diety that had decided that at one moment one person would miss her) that she would in fact, never let the number define her, and she didn't.

As the years passed, the number on her wrist didn't change. Leaving the orphanage, she expected to drop down to the ever ominous zero, but the number stayed the same. She made every effort to ignore it, putting concealer on it, wearing large bracelets, and she even considered getting a tattoo over it - a popular method of covering up low numbers by the masses. Another popular method - support groups. Often viewed as pity parties for the unpopular, there were support groups for those with considerably low numbers, they would talk about their difficulties as a Single Digit, and collectively promise to keep tabs on the others and if worst came to worst, keep their memory and attend their funeral. 

Skye went to a few while she traveled, always staying in the shadows and never introducing herself as anything more than Skye. The people she met were hopeful, but in the end she let their numbers define them. She made careful note of all the people in attendance, and when she found a chance, she would input their names to her program. She had designed it when she went to her first Digit meeting, it tracked the names she put in and notified her of any obituaries or notification of death associated with them. It was a morbid program, but it did it's job. When Jack Harrison died in a tragic car crash, she drove the 14 hours to his funeral. It wasn't too emotional but 12 people showed up. Some she recognized from the support group she had attended a month ago, some she assumed had read the obituary and wanted to show their support. 12 people remembered him. He wasn't a single digit. 

When she met Miles, she let down her walls and let him in. Laying in bed after a good fuck, she had told him about her Digit meetings. She balked when he laughed at her, but he insisted she didn't need them. She had him now. Gradually she stopped attending meetings. No more names were added to her program. She didn't need them. She had him now. Following the attack on New York, updates flooded in from her program, but Miles reassured her, there was a big ceremony for all the lives lost. It would be broadcast. They would be well represented. She agreed, but that night after Miles pulled out of her and promptly fell asleep, she opened her laptop and searched their names. Being sure to send flowers to whatever family each person had. They would not be forgotten. 

It didn't bother her that her number hadn't changed since she met Miles, after all, her number didn't define her. Eventually Miles suggested infiltrating Shield. It was for the greater good, and deep down, she wanted to find her parents. She wanted to be rid of the singular number on her wrist. So she went for it. Tracked Mike and his son, got caught and found herself in the plane. The Agent - Ward - tried to threaten her, give up Mike. But the connection she had formed with the man made her stubborn. She raised her wrist and showed off her number, 

"Does it look like threatening my life is going to get you anywhere?" His eyes flick to the number and she thinks she can see some sort of understanding in his eyes. The moment is broken when the door opens and a man in a well tailored suit walks in, presumably the boss. He stands around a bit, looking her up and down before asking, 

"What's your name?"

She balked for a moment. Here was Terminator 3000 and then stay at home dad. They made quite a pair. 

"Skye."

"What's your real name?" Agent Ward growled. Her sarcastic response was interrupted by soccer dad, 

"Doesn't matter. The name we really need is of a certain hero."

As adventures went, Skye considered herself lucky on this one. Getting kidnapped by Mike, pleading, and saving his life, and getting to ride in Lola, she was pleasantly distracted. So much so that when her singular number changed, for the first time in years, she didn't even notice.

Settling into bed on the bus that night, she gasped as she saw the number. It had gone up by 1. Surely it had something to do with soccer dad - Agent Coulson. 

As she continued with the team, the numbers steadily rose, and Skye made the concentrated effort to tamper down the excitement in her chest. First it started with Agent Coulson, then 2 more added with Fitzsimmons. Surprisingly, May's number came before Ward's. There was no real way to tell who each number added accounted for, but Skye knew. 

Skye had causally mentioned her number to Fitzsimmons one day, and neither seemed surprised by the low number. They both showed theirs, 20 each. They explained that the number went down when they joined Shield. Sometimes things happened and people could not be present for the funerals. They didn't care. Their numbers didn't define them. 

Even after her betrayal, she stared at her wrist - the same one the tracker was on - waiting for the numbers to drop again. But they never did.

After she was shot and lying in a pool of her own blood, she stared at the number on her wrist, willing it to give her some sort of comfort on her death bed. She didn't expect to wake up, and when she did, all she could think about were the people in the room, smiling up at her. 

With Tripp's appearance, Skye was glad to note the almost instant increase in number on her wrist. 

Following Ward's betrayal, she sat in the bathroom of the hotel, desperately scrubbing at her number, willing it to go down. No matter the consequences, she sure as hell didn't want Ward anywhere near her, alive or dead. She tried to ignore the drop in her gut when Ward was incarcerated and the number still refused to drop. 

With the appearance of Lance, and Bobbi and Mack, so did 3 more numbers. For the first time in her life, she had double digits on her wrist. Jemma and Fitz insisted on a celebration, but then Puerto Rico happened and her double digit celebration was cut short. For the first time ever, her number went down again. 

The second time her number went down again was when Sister Loretta died. Skye requested a short leave and Coulson granted it, understanding shining in his eyes. The funeral was somber, but not so much as to be a sad occasion. Sister Loretta's numbers had fluctuated but in the end, more than 150 people showed up. Skye recognized a few of the people as orphans from her time. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted James, his head hung and a somber look on his face. She resisted the urge to reach out to him, and instead walked up to the casket and offered up her silent thanks before slipping out to the car waiting for her. 

As time progresses and things get crazy, Skye's numbers once again climb. Theres Jaiying, and Cal, and Lincoln and Gordon as well, but in the end, Lincoln's number is the only one that stays consistent. Following the events of the airplane carrier, Skye lays in her bunk staring at her wrist, willing the numbers to reach double digits again. With the news of Jemma's disappearance, she doesn't worry. Her number isn't gone, she's still alive. They will reach her, wherever she is. 

With the addition of Joey, her number once again reaches double digits, but she is wary. It remains that way until Coulson jumps through the portal. When her number changes once again, Skye immediately panics. Something is wrong, but her panic is replaced by relief when both Fitz and Coulson emerge. She doesn't have to look at Coulson to know who they left behind. 

Yoyo proves a welcome addition as well. Giving her double digit status again, but at this point she knows double digits are a curse. Upon seeing the future, Daisy desperately tries to determine who will leave her this time, but under the sway of Hive, she forgets all about it. Instead she's focusing on the people she's hurting, Fitz and Mack namely. Even in her drugged state, she still expects the numbers to drop again, and when she's finally released, she's paranoid that they will drop. 

And when they do drop, and Lincoln dies, theres a hole in her heart that can't be filled. She silently promises herself that she will never achieve double digits, as it seems to just be a curse. So she runs. She knows the numbers won't drop, but she can't stay and let them rise and wait for somebody else to die. She doesn't get attached, doesn't form the connections, only to the little girl and the mother she insists on helping. Not that she's not paying attention.

A year later she learns of an ambush on shield personnel, and even after running away after all this time, she runs back. With another unstable inhuman fighting against her, she knows the odds are slim. She arrives and finds her team, ragged but alive, barely holding off against the Inhuman sending showers of sparks their way. Her heart pangs for a moment remembering Lincoln, but she rushes into action. She can hear Coulson yell for her behind her, and the almost imperceptible "Tremors" from Mack's mouth, but in the end it doesn't matter. The inhuman focuses his attention on her, and that's all she needs. There's a sonic boom where her powers are met with the Inhuman's and she goes flying backwards into the rubble. Something is poking through her side, and it kinda hurts. 

She hears the commotion around her, and instantly there are hands at her side, trying to stop the blood from escaping, but Daisy knows a lost cause when she feels one. The voices around her are familiar, Coulson, Mack, May. She vaguely wonders why Jemma isn't the one tending to her wounds, but its not long before she's pulled into the dark and she releases her last breath. 

* * *

Agent Daisy Johnson's burial was one that people would remember for many years to come. Upon hearing the news of their friends death, agents from far and wide made the trek to say goodbye to their friend one last time. Jemma and Fitz, Lance and Bobbi, Yoyo and Joey, and even the remaining Koenig brother's made the effort. There was standing room only for the girl with the number 9 on her wrist. People take turns telling stories of Agent Daisy Johnson, the spunky determined orphan who found a family in the middle of a war, so to speak. Jemma started a story of her and Daisy - well Skye's - bad girl shenanigans, and before long, Fitz had to gently guide the sobbing scientist off the stage before making his own remarks, not without a few cracked words here and there. May stood defiant, as though daring someone to degrade the legacy of her protege. Phil spoke last, detailing the life of the woman he considered his own daughter, and before closing, he looked into the eyes of those in attendance, and spoke one last time, 

"When I first met Daisy, she wasn't an agent, she wasn't even Daisy. She was Skye, and she believed that there was one person in the world that would care enough when she died. You all here now, are proof that she was wrong. She was loved, and cherished and admired, and most importantly," he glanced over to his team, most of which had dissolved into tears, "she will be so dearly missed. She gave her life for the people she considered family, and for that, we can thank her the only way we know how, and thats all of you here today. Thank you." His voice cracked at the last word, and everyone shifted and stood as Coulson, Mack, Lance and Fitz gabbed the corners of the casket holding their friend, and with a final solemn nod, lifted the casket and walked out the doors. 

 


End file.
